


Pushing Buttons

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Crack, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, I didn't know that was a tag!, M/M, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Monday, and Eames is almost happy. He would probably be happier if it weren’t Monday. He would probably be happier if his favourite cafe hadn’t run out of coffee grinds--really, who <i>does</i> that? He would definitely be happier if he wasn’t about to be late for a Very Important Business Meeting with some no-doubt fancy and arrogant asshole lawyers who were going to be his only hope of jump-starting his new business.</p><p>Based on this prompt:<br/><i>I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you late for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it” AU</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pushing Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened. I blame Tumblr?  
> (un-beta'd, FYI)

It’s Monday, and Eames is almost happy. He would probably be happier if it weren’t Monday. He would probably be happier if his favourite cafe hadn’t run out of coffee grinds--really, who _does_ that? He would definitely be happier if he wasn’t about to be late for a Very Important Business Meeting with some no-doubt fancy and arrogant asshole lawyers who were going to be his only hope of jump-starting his new business.

He enters the 20-floor building that houses his small office, hands decidedly _lacking_ a coffee cup, and heads straight for the elevators. 20 flights of stairs is enough to kill a caffeinated man, let alone an un-caffeinated one.

One of the elevator doors is, miraculously, open, and Eames spots a single man inside, dressed in a three-piece suit. He waves energetically. “Hey! Hey, can you hold it for me? Hey!”

The three-piece suit frowns and reaches to the side panel and stabs a button repeatedly. Eames’ eyes widen in shock as the doors start to close, and he darts forward and catches the doors just before they close. He steps in with an exaggerated sigh of relief and glances over at the man in the three-piece suit. Eames would very easily find the man attractive except for the fact that he just tried to _close the fucking elevator doors on him._

He reaches over the man with a fake smile. “Excuse me,” he mutters. The three-piece suit rolls his eyes and steps away so that Eames can hit the button for his floor. Number 20 is already selected, and Eames glances sidelong at the suit.

He hits the button for the second floor and sends the elevator chugging to a halt. The doors slowly slide open. The suit glances at Eames pointedly, and Eames smiled broadly. “My mistake, mate,” he says. “Got the wrong floor.”

Eames is definitely not grinning maniacally as he hits the button for every single floor, 1 through 20. He steps back proudly. “There,” he says. “I’ll figure it out this way, right?”

The three-piece suit stares at Eames in either rage or lust. While Eames would be tremendously flattered if it were the latter, he is more than marginally certain it is the former.

They stand at opposite sides of the elevator until the sixth floor, when the man in the three-piece suit explodes.

“Honest to God, what is your fucking problem?” he demands.

Eames raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

The T-PS scoffs. “You know exactly which fucking floor you want. Was this--” He gestures wildly at the panel of brightly lit buttons-- “absolutely necessary?”

Eames pretends to ponder that for a moment. “Yes,” he says.

The T-PS’ eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Why?” he roars.

“You started this,” Eames responds, very maturely. “You’re the one who was bloody trying to shut the door on me in the first place!”

“I was-- _am_ \--about to be late for a very important meeting.” The T-PS sighs loudly.

“Yeah?” Eames says. “Well, so was I! So bugger off, mate, thanks so much.”

The T-PS shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand what?”

The T-PS sighs again. “My boss told me that if I didn’t make a good impression today, then I shouldn’t even bother coming back to the office.”

The elevator shudders and stops at floor ten.

The T-PS glances at his watch. “I’m already ten minutes late now. I don’t know why I even bother,” he mutters. He runs a hand through his carefully slicked hair and Eames absolutely does _not_ drool at how the ends curl softly around his temples and ears. “You know,” the T-PS says, oblivious to Eames’ fixation, “I didn’t even want to be a lawyer anyway. I was going to be… fuck it, I don’t know, anything _other_ than a useless lawyer with practically billions of dollars’ worth of debt. Should’ve gone to art school or something, it would’ve been better.”

Floor fifteen. The man’s on a roll. “Should’ve just told the old man to fuck off. I was gonna be the best at whatever I wanted to do, and I was gonna figure out what the hell I wanted to do when I got to college. But no, I had to have a _plan_ , junior, a fucking plan, and now I’m stuck here because of that fucking plan, about to be jobless and penniless, and I’m probably gonna die alone and fucking miserable, muttering court cases in my sleep.”

He turns to Eames, eyes blazing. “And this is all your fucking fault, so don’t get all high and mighty with me. God, I’m just gonna have to hope they don’t mind. I can tell them my taxi got into an accident, that might work.”

Eames doubts that the man--the very petulant, younger-than-he-seemed, over-dramatic man--wants him to interrupt, so he does. “What office were you going to?”

The man shrugs. “Who gives a fuck?” he asks. “It was some new startup, something silly like Easy Living but not.”

Eames swallows. “Eames-y Living?” he suggests.

The man frowns. “Yeah, that one. You know it?”

Eames shrugs. “Yeah.”

Floor nineteen.

“The guy in charge is alright,” Eames says. The man has gone silent and is staring at the elevator doors. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Floor twenty.

The doors sluggishly slide open. “After you,” Eames says, gesturing grandly.

The man takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and steps into the hallway as if he’s expecting a firing squad. Eames’ receptionist glances up and smiles widely.

“Oh, perfect timing!” she coos.

The man squints. “Sorry?”

She walks around the desk and shakes the man’s hand. “Arthur Gordon?” she asks. “So great to meet you, really it is. And what a fabulous coincidence!”

“What?” Arthur says.

“Eames,” his secretary says reproachfully, “you know we’ve discussed the tardiness.”

“Yes,” Eames says contritely, “but it was rather fortuitous today, wasn’t it?”

Arthur turns around fast enough to get whiplash. “ _You’re_ the one in charge?” he demands.

Eames smiles. “‘Fraid so.”

Arthur stares.

“If you’ll follow me,” Eames’ secretary says, heading towards their conference room.

Arthur leans over and whispers in Eames’ ear, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Eames shivers dramatically. “Can’t wait, darling.” He smirks. “Save it ‘til after the meeting, though, hm?” Then he pats Arthur on the cheek and walks away, smiling like the cat got the cream.

Okay, so maybe he is a little bit happier. Even though it still is a coffee-less Monday.


End file.
